


you've got a glow

by loghain



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Firsts, M/M, Sexual Content, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loghain/pseuds/loghain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>climb into my arms with blood on your clothes / and you're no one's but mine.</p>
<p>vignettes of Wrench and Numbers, from the start to the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

their first kiss is when Wrench is seventeen. 

they’ve only just started working together. it’s not a willing pairing at first, it’s just convenience; the syndicate doesn’t know that Numbers’ mother is deaf, but they know that he knows american sign language, so when they have a deaf runt show up at their doorstep there’s only really one partner they can think of for him.

Wrench is tall for a teenager, broad and strong, smarter than people give him credit for but a little off the wall and rude. he annoys Numbers at first, but when he realises that Numbers wasn’t just assigned to him as some sort of babysitter, he cools off, less hotheaded, less slipping rude gestures into their conversations just because he thinks Numbers won’t notice.

(Numbers does notice. he’s rusty, but not an idiot. that’s the gesture for orgasm, not mother, asshole.)

Wrench doesn’t actually have an inbuilt propensity for violence. he’s just good at it. the first time he kills a man for the syndicate he goes all sick and pale. he recovers fast, but Numbers sees it, the way Wrench’s knee shakes when they’re in the car.

Numbers didn't know how to explain to him that feeling sick when you kill someone is a good thing. yeah, sure, being cold to it is even better, and you get used to it after a while, you really do, but they’re not animals. they’re not psychopaths. they can detach, but they’re human.

Numbers probably should’ve figured out a way to explain that. four months later he still hadn’t worded it right and that’s when Wrench boils over, when he loses control, keeps punching and punching and punching and punching until there’s not really a face under his hands, just blood and bone and a deep choking gurgling noise.

Numbers pulls him away. you can’t burn the human out of you by punching the life out of another person. that’s not the way it works. he still doesn’t know how to say that. he just takes Wrench’s bloody knuckles in his, wipes them as clean as he can, silently works his fingers into Wrench’s bunched hands, encouraging him to relax, no need to keep clenching his fists so tight like that.

he moves his head, a little serpentine, movement enough that eventually Wrench looks at him. Numbers talks out loud. not louder or slower than he does normally. he says: “hey. c’mon, kid. it’s okay. you’re okay.”

Wrench’s shoulders stop heaving after a while. he’s so big that it’s weird to remember that he’s just a kid and that organised crime is actually terrifying. 

Wrench bends down, turning his hands to take Numbers’ fingers properly in his, and kisses him, eyes shutting, words not wanted anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

for a long time, not a lot happens. 

they kiss but Numbers always feels bad about it. not because he doesn’t want to kiss Wrench, not because he doesn’t like the guy. not even because they’re partners, hell, they are not the first partners to ever go down this road.

Wrench is just young. not so young that he’s never done anything, Numbers isn’t worried about that. there’s just something seedy about getting hard when pushing up on a eighteen year old, even if they’re four inches taller and the instigator half the time. 

Numbers doesn’t remember when he stopped minding. when he stopped feeling bad. the feeling was there one day and gone the next. the only constant in between was Wrench.


	3. Chapter 3

Numbers is bisexual. he’s always been pretty cool with that. 

he likes girls just as much as guys. but he’s just never been big on the whole dick-in-ass thing, either way - he’d rather just get off with hands, some good old fashioned frotting. he’s reasonably into being on top if the guy he’s with wants that. it’s warm and tight, he can’t pretend like it doesn’t feel good. 

the mess and the stretch and the effort just always felt a lot more than it was worth.

which all obviously goes a long way to explaining how the first time he fucks Wrench, he ends up face down on the mattress, pressing his forehead against his arm and trying not to cry out even though he knows Wrench can’t hear him, pushing back against each push of Wrench’s cock inside him.

he’s sort of humiliated. he’s twenty-nine now. Wrench is nineteen, not even out of his teens, and he’s got Numbers face down and keening to get fucked, rutting his hips up and gasping. Numbers can feel his face is red, his skin hot all over, and Wrench’s fingers feel searing when they hold onto his hips and make him still, hold him in place, and that’s when Numbers starts moaning on every thrust.

with no exaggeration, he comes harder than he ever has in his _life._ afterwards, they go to sleep in the bed that hasn’t got come on the sheets, and Numbers finds himself wondering when they agreed to start sleeping in the same bed. 

Wrench is growing his facial hair out a bit. Numbers reckons it’s an attempt at looking - harsher. getting more people to take him seriously instead of looking at him as a giant kid. it takes the soft edge off his face. 

they think he’s stupid because he’s quiet. even when they know _why_ he’s quiet. people have a habit of not looking at Wrench. Numbers shifts onto his side so he can watch Wrench getting comfortable, absently reaching under the sheets and scratching his belly.

it’s a little infuriating how content Numbers is to watch a guy get comfortable and ready to sleep. it’s bizarre how this, beyond any other moment of free time he has ever had, feels like a secret, stolen moment. Numbers is glad he let Wrench fuck him. there’s a sentiment there, somehow, and he wonders if Wrench knows that Numbers trusts him implicitly.

Numbers pats his bicep. Wrench turns his head to look at him. Numbers signs, «hey. you and me?»

Wrench looks at him like that’s an obvious question. «you and me.»


	4. Chapter 4

a couple of years later, they’re not together anymore.  

it’s not as if there’s hard feelings there, not really. it just sort of happened. too much time together, not enough. Numbers gets the feeling he didn’t - doesn’t - communicate enough for a relationship that literally thrives on communication to survive. 

buuuut it still kind of hurts when Numbers drives by to pick Wrench up one day and Wrench is saying goodbye some slim black guy by kissing him. and by kind of, Numbers makes a point not to ask at all about the guy, even though Wrench saw him, even though Wrench knows that Numbers knows. 

Wrench gives him a funny look the entire way to their job, like he’s expecting Numbers to ask. Numbers doesn’t want to know. Wrench’s boyfriend is probably super nice, whatever, and he’s more age-appropriate, if not a tiny bit younger, and Wrench barely had to lean down to kiss him, which must’ve been nice. but Numbers doesn’t need to know the details of his partner’s love life. 

he’s thirty-one and he does not care. not even a little bit.

he feels Wrench’s hand on his arm. turns his head to look. Wrench frowns. he points at Numbers, pulls his hand back, makes a circle with his fingers and then another letter — 

«are you okay?»

Numbers nods. smiles.

«bullshit.» Numbers has to keep glancing between Wrench and the road to catch what he’s saying. «you’ve barely said a word to me since you picked me up.» 

Numbers makes a face at him. “I’m driving."

«is this about Simon?»

Numbers knows his knuckles go white on the steering wheel. didn’t wanna know his name. «who?»

«don’t be a dick, you know who.»

Numbers ignores him until they’re pulling up outside their motel. he turns off the car engine, and fuck, he’s been stewing in this for the entirety of the three hour car ride, and he’s been trying so hard not to, but as they’re walking to their room (two beds) he catches Wrench’s elbow. Wrench turns to look at him with an irritated expression that Numbers probably deserves, but he can’t stand it, so he doesn’t look at Wrench’s face when he signs.

«does he know your real name?»

Wrench just sort of turns around and puts the key into their motel room. the non-answer is all Numbers needed to know, that yeah, this Simon guy probably calls him by the name his mother gave him. it stings like some kind of betrayal, even though Numbers knows that name, too. 

he thought they’d sort of transcended names together. he doesn’t remember the last time he ever used a name in their conversations. he thought they were weirdly above that, like they didn’t need them because for them it was all about touch, all about their hands.

that was stupid, he guesses, following Wrench into their room. he waits until Wrench turns around. «is he deaf too?»

Wrench nods, expression impassive. then: «why does this bother you?»

Numbers can’t look at him. again. he shrugs, half turns away, then with short, sharp actions, he says, «you know why.» 

Wrench shakes his head. «don't»

alright, so Numbers won’t. he goes through their bags instead, makes sure things are in order, cause like — they need to be in order. he thinks he might be looking for an excuse to do something with his hands that isn’t talking. 

a hand taps on his shoulder. it’s Wrench, of course, looking down at Numbers with a sad sort of frown on his face. «you made it hard to care about you.»

yeah, well, that’s probably fair, Numbers knows he has a tendency to be an asshole in a way that Wrench isn’t, is almost ritualistically grumpy and unfair and probably kind of hard to like most days, but. «i didn’t stop,» Numbers pauses, hands hesitating at the start of a sign, gives up, backpedals, «just because we stopped sleeping together it doesn’t mean i stopped,»

Wrench looks annoyed. «say it then.»

Numbers shakes his head. «you have a boyfriend.»

 


	5. Chapter 5

alright, so Numbers can’t stand this.  

Wrench isn’t dating that kid anymore but they’re still not fixed and Numbers can’t take the stunted way they’ve been talking to each other, every gesture short and unhappy. Wrench is pissed at Numbers and Numbers is bitter, and they go in circles like that, 

or they were going in circles. Numbers can’t do it anymore. Wrench is sat reading something on his bed (another motel, another job), weirdly cute with his feet bare and crossed at the ankles.

the job is actually done. they get to go home tomorrow. Numbers can’t think of a better time to do this than now. he sits on the edge of his bed, peeling off innocuous items one at a time: shoes, socks, coat, jacket, belt, until he’s just in his shirt and pants. 

Wrench doesn’t look at him at all. Wrench used to like watching him get undressed. Numbers is sure he still does — he has to, right? they can’t be that far away from each other now. they can’t have separated that much.

he tries to hold that in mind when he crosses over to Wrench’s bed and takes the book out of his hands. Wrench seems annoyed at first, reaching for the book even as Numbers puts it on the bedside table, 

(he closes it without marking the page and he knows Wrench will bitch him out for that later but he doesn’t _care it’s not important_ )

but Numbers nudges at Wrench’s wrists, encouraging him not to do that, and in the moment between Wrench following the action and Wrench looking at him like he has no idea what’s going on, Numbers climbs onto the bed and puts his knees either side of Wrench’s thighs, sitting back on his haunches.

he knows he has Wrench’s attention like this. which is good, because Numbers is only going to say this once, and then he wants Wrench — inside him, marking him again, the way they should’ve stayed the past couple of years, the way they shouldn’t have stopped being.

«i love you,» that’s the thing he signs. «i’m a total jerk and i couldn’t say it but when i said ‘you and me’ back when we were first together i meant it like that. just you. just me. nobody else.»

Wrench puts his hands on the tops of Numbers’ thighs. Numbers feels an appropriate, awful lump in his throat. «i miss you. i don’t know how we’re constantly in the same room and out of reach at the same time.»

he’s extremely grateful when Wrench kisses him. it’s a good answer, and it’s - it’s better, Numbers doesn’t need to hear all the other stuff back, he knew it - he knew it all already, doesn’t need to read it said back, he just needed to _say it_ , enough for them to quit punishing each other with silence and distance.

and he didn’t want to keep talking. he’s kind of mad and burning up over the whole thing, over having to admit that he’s some type of asshole who really, _really_ loves this stupid kid.

so he’s glad that Wrench didn’t make him drag that out.

Numbers was gonna do some weird dramatic thing, all ‘let me show you my love’ or something, he was gonna inch forward on Wrench’s lap and then ride him until they went blind but Wrench is strong and has other ideas.

he moves them in one bodily movement, all the air whooshing out of Numbers’ chest when his back slams against the bed, and Wrench is kissing him again, hard enough that Numbers actually wants to stop to catch his breath but he just gasps for lungfuls between the way Wrench is pulling at their clothes instead.

they’re great like this, communication a non-issue; they’re a little rusty but by the time that Wrench wraps his fingers around the hard length of Numbers’ cock they’re back in sync, Numbers arching and groaning and Wrench watching him with the usual, piercing intensity that he watches Numbers any other time. 

it’s a look just for him. Wrench is always watching him for cues. even now. Numbers is happy to give them, reaching up to put his hands in Wrench’s hair, to cup his face, to get them looking at each other when he says, “please fuck me.”

Wrench looks at him. just looks at him. then he nods, pulls his fingers up the length of Numbers’ cock one more time and then peels himself away, allowing them both an opportunity to get rid of their clothes entirely.

Wrench seems to take a moment to reacquaint himself with Numbers’ tattoos, as if he hasn’t seen them in months and has to re-find his favourites; he sucks heat against the wording at the base of his throat, scrapes teeth over calligraphy. Numbers arches up into that. 

he puts his hands on Wrench’s shoulders. squeezes the blunt tips of his fingers into them, moves his hands across his back and feels the hard roll of muscle when Wrench moves down. Wrench bites the softer skin of Numbers’ stomach, a brief thing, like a playful nip, and Numbers groans all the same, and he’s getting desperate, starts kind of patting at Wrench like he hopes he’ll get the idea —

he does, of course. Wrench sucks his fingers into his mouth, pushing Numbers’ knees way apart, and Numbers exhales, staring up at him from his place flat-back on the bed. Wrench seems so huge, looming between his thighs, and his legs are burning a little from being pushed apart like that but he doesn’t mind, he’s more transfixed by watching the way Wrench takes real care to get his fingers wet and sloppy. 

it’s been a while. it’s a little uncomfortable, but when Wrench is pushing his fingers inside Numbers he hunkers down, kisses his stomach, rubs his face against his skin affectionately, keeps him relaxed and aroused until Wrench has three fingers inside him. Numbers pushes his fingers through Wrench’s short, perpetually messy crop of curls and moans. 

he wonders if Wrench can feel the vibration of sound through his chest and stomach. he knows it carries through his throat. he hopes Wrench can feel it if he’s loud enough. if not he hopes the way his cock is leaking like he’s some kind of teenager gives away just how into this he is, how must he’s missed and wants Wrench.

he rubs his fingers against Wrench’s cheeks, gets his attention, nods to say _i’m ready_ , and Wrench nods in turn, sitting up and pulling his fingers out of Numbers. suddenly he looks breathless, stricken, and before Numbers can ask what the matter is he says «i don’t have a condom.»

ah, fuck. again before Numbers can respond Wrench is signing: «we can just fuck like this.» he’s looking thoughtful, like it’s kind of innocent to just suggest alternatives, but then he’s saying, «i’ve always wanted to finger you until you come anyway» and Numbers is absolutely burning up just thinking about that, about Wrench getting off from doing that to him. 

Numbers shakes his head, though. «forget about it and fuck me.» 

he’s clean. he’s not stupid, gets tested every couple of months. Wrench is too, he’s sure, Wrench isn’t nearly as careless as Numbers is and gets rigorously tested anyway, Numbers used to pick him up from a clinic on the east side of fargo all the time.

besides, this is it, right? monogamy or something? that’s what Numbers is going for here.

Wrench hesitates. there must be something he reads in Numbers’ expression though, cause he seems a little more sure when he says: «you want that?»

Numbers nods.  

«give me a hand then.»

Numbers lets out a breathy laugh and sits up, pulling Wrench towards him and giving him a kiss; in the same moment he wraps his hand around Wrench’s dick - a couple of brief strokes and then he’s spitting into his hand, unpleasant as that is, working his hand back over Wrench and repeating the action time and again until Wrench’s big cock is hard and slicked.

Wrench lets him know when he’s ready by pushing him hard on his back again, his body over Numbers’ with a possessiveness that Numbers has missed. Wrench seemed to come without the innate shame that tacks under some people’s skins — he’s never been afraid or shy about affection or the opposite, and for a moment Numbers thinks Wrench has forgotten about fucking him because he’s intently mouthing the skin of Numbers’ neck and just skimming his hands up his sides, but no, he hasn’t forgotten, of course he hasn’t forgotten,

he’s pushing inside Numbers and Numbers has to put his arms around Wrench’s shoulders to deal with that, the deep, familiar feeling of being _so full,_ and he has no idea how he went so long without this, oh _fuck._

each thrust is slow at first, attentive, bringing them back together, Wrench’s hips working hard and Numbers canting his up to meet him, and kissing, a lot of kissing to the point that Numbers’ lips feel numb so he bites Wrench’s lip and Wrench gets the idea and then Numbers is putting a hand over his mouth to cover up the noises he’s making because oh god, fuck, fuck that’s _embarrassing_ , the kind of moan that a well placed thrust can pull out of him, and with Wrench fucking him as hard as he is now Numbers just keeps choking out noises and feeling the sheets drag at his back with every movement

and Wrench’s hand closes at Numbers’ throat. gently, so gently, but even if Wrench wanted to squeeze he could, he’d get off on that - but the point is that Wrench doesn’t squeeze. he lays his big palm against Numbers’ throat and chooses to be gentle, to just feel the shape of his neck, and when Numbers groans, he knows the sound can be felt there, feels it reverb off Wrench’s palm. 

Numbers is constantly in awe of the ways that Wrench chooses to be gentle with him. or not gentle. he’s not some big clumsy fuck, he knows every ounce of his strength, and right now he’s using most of it to pound Numbers into the mattress. 

he can tell when Wrench is getting close. he remembers that and it hasn’t changed, and he’s thinking about how it’ll feel when Wrench pulls out and comes on him when he feels something filthy wash over him, and — 

“come inside me,” he gasps out, grasps at Wrench’s face so Wrench will really look at him, Wrench whose eyes are kind of blown like he didn’t read that quite right, so Numbers repeats it, voice strangled by how turned on he is, “come inside me, i want you to, come,” he’s cut off with a sharp noise when Wrench just buries his face against Numbers’ neck, hands abandoning throat to hold hard onto his hips, big hands leaving white blooms on his skin, and Wrench does right as he’s told, hips snapping hard against Numbers’ ass, and low, choked noise pressing hotly against Numbers’ neck as he comes.

Numbers only needs a little encouragement to follow suit after that, a hand wrapped tightly around his cock and Wrench, leaning up between his thighs, still buried inside him. 

there’s some laughter afterwards. mostly from Numbers, awkward, shoulder-shaking laughter as he tries to sort of act like he didn’t ask someone to come in his ass, even when he’s wincing as he moves. he feels gross because apparently he’s into some really unsanitary things, but he feels sated too, he feels _better_ , especially when Wrench rubs an affectionate hand against his hip and then squeezes. 

«you wanna shower?»

Numbers nods, palms the back of his neck. he’s sore all over, apparently. then, «together?»

«yeah, together.»

Numbers squints at him. «are we still talking about the shower?»

Wrench's turn to laugh, a silent thing that makes his chest heave, and then he leans over, pulling Numbers into a kiss.

 


End file.
